


Engrossed

by agentclintonfranciscoulson (dauntperplexity)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dauntperplexity/pseuds/agentclintonfranciscoulson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint thought that being in the library would keep him from distractions as he studied. Instead, he found himself watching the man who would walk in at the same time every day, sit, and write without stopping. Clint had to admire the handwork and focus. The second an opportunity presented itself, Clint made his way over to read what the man had been working so hard on for the last few weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Engrossed

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a prompt here (  X  )

Clint first noticed him while he was studying for midterms. He had been there when Clint first showed up, and even after midterms had come and gone, the man still came to the library. He was unassuming and in any other place he wouldn’t have paid attention to him. What made Clint notice him was how the man typed loudly and furious enough to disrupt the quiet area of the library he always ended up.

Clint thought that Mister Glasses and Suit and Cufflinks sitting two tables away from him had to be a professor. He looked the part with his glasses and suit and cufflinks. He even had a briefcase that Clint never saw Mr. GSC open except to take out and put away his laptop and charger, but he could tell that there were at least two books stuffed into it. 

Clint didn’t know why this man intrigued him so much. It probably had to do with the fact that Mr. GSC was the only constant every time Clint went to the library to study. The man probably made time to go to the library at least once a day. That was some dedication.

But why would a professor be in the library during midterms, typing up a storm every time he sat down?

Maybe Mr. GSC wasn’t a professor. Graduate student was more likely. Which was probably why the handsome man’s face was always inches from his computer screen as he typed something that was so infuriating that his forehead was, more often than not, wrinkled and his face was in a perpetual scowl.

The man definitely needed a break. Or ten.

Clint was sure the man would’ve taken them if there wasn’t a deadline involved. A deadline was the only thing that would explain the amount of typing the man was doing for the hour or two he would be in the library. After the first few times, Clint would time him. He hadn’t been meaning to, but the man was a human clock. Mr. GSC would arrive at 2:30pm, type for either one hour or two, never anything in between, then leave.

Clint had to know what the man was writing.

Clint could fixate, and he had fixated on whatever Mr. GSC was typing. The longer Clint watched the man continuing to type without taking a break, the more Clint began to think that the other man was not human. The inkling grew every time he saw the other man.

He was fixated on an alien.

Perfect.

Twelve days after they met, and when Clint said met it was more of twelve days since he started noticing Mr. GSC, the alien proved himself to be human. A human who liked to read comics. Captain America comics to be specific.

At least Mr. GSC admired someone worth admiring. Clint grabbed his notebook and wrote in one of the margins _Likes Captain America_ as if he were observing an animal in the wild or doing research for a paper. _Probably wearing a Captain America shirt under his Oxford_. So, maybe there was a lot of speculation involved with his observations.

Mr. GSC read the comic for half an hour before continuing his thesis or dissertation, Clint assumed, until his two hours were through. Then, the man packed up and left on schedule.

_Probably meeting his girlfriend. Or boyfriend? Not gonna assume anything about Mr. GSC’s preferences._

When Clint arrived at his apartment at the end of the day, he glared at the margins of his notebook that used to be filled with only doodles. What the hell was he doing? He had margins full of observations of the man. 

_He fiddles with his tie when he tries to think of the next thing to type._

_He wears glasses_.

 _Big watch_.

Fixating. 

Clint did not know if he was fixating on the man, or what the man could’ve been possibly been writing. Both. The near obsession was going to make him lose sleep until he either went up to Mr. GSC and spoke to him, or figured out what the man was writing. His mind wouldn’t just let him believe that it was just a long paper that the man had been working on for a really, really long time.

Day 18 after their first meeting, which still couldn’t be considered a meeting, the man left his laptop open as he left to do something. Bathroom? Phone call? No. The man didn’t have a cell phone with him with he left. And Clint noticed, because, of course he did.

Clint stared at the open laptop taunting and beckoning him over to read whatever was on the screen. He didn’t move from his spot, scared that the man would return, see him, and proceed to act very un-Captain America-like. He wouldn’t take the risk.

Not yet.

_Leaves laptop unattended for creepers to look at._

_Trusting of strangers._

_I have become a creeper._

_Go back to studying, Clinton._

Writing his name was always enough to jolt him out of writing the observations. Clint watched as the man returned five minutes later and he made sure that he didn’t think too long or hard about what the man did in those five minutes.

It wasn’t often, but every now and then, the man would leave the laptop open as he left the area and would return with a book in hand that he would never open. More often than not, Clint was the only other person in that corner of the library.

_He trusts me?_

Well, that made Clint warm inside. He didn’t need the validation of a complete stranger, but the validation of a man who read Captain America comics was worth something. Not much, but enough to keep Clint interested.

For the next handful of meetings, it was enough to keep Clint’s curiosity at bay. Clint would still watch and listen as the man typed his thesis—he was slowly convincing himself that it was the truth. Sometimes the man looked frustrated. Once in a blue moon, the man smiled.

 _He smiles. It’s cute_. 

_Stop staring at him, you weirdo._

_CLINTON!_

Clint tried his best to listen to his margin notes, but the man had been Clint’s entertainment for the last month and a half. His life was a little sad. Mr. GSC made it a little less sad.

At least being in the library that often made him study more than if he tried to study in his apartment. His grades improved a bit. He would thank Mr. GSC for that if he ever talked to the man. 

Halfway into reading a chapter on herd immunity, he was pulled out of his zone when he heard a cell phone ring. He knew it wasn’t his because he left his phone at Natasha’s the night before when they were studying for microbiology, something he did too many times. He looked around and saw there was only one person in the quiet corner with him.

 _He does have a cell phone_. 

The man frantically reached into his bag to grab his phone to stop it from ringing. He held it to his ear and looked in Clint’s direction before saying a soft, “Sorry.” He then stood up and pushed his chair in.

 _Gentleman_.

_Very nice sounding voice._

“This is Phil,” he said in a hushed tone. There was a sigh and a beat before the man continued. “No, I haven’t been avoiding you.” He made his way to the nearest exit. “Do we really need to have this conversation now?”

Then the door shut. The phone call sounded urgent. And like it was going to take a considerable amount of time.

Could it be? A chance to sit at Mr. GSC’s laptop and finally read what he had been typing?

 _His name is Phil_.

 _The name suits him_.

Before all logic and reason could stop him, Clint stood and walked over to the other table. He was slow and careful, approaching the laptop as if he were approaching a feral animal that would attack him if he was too close. No one else was in that area with them so he wasn’t afraid of anyone ratting him out to Phil.

_Go back to your own seat!_

Leave it to Clint to ignore every self preservation instinct.

He sat down and looked at the laptop, immediately using the trackpad to move the cursor around so the laptop didn’t shut off before he completed his mission.

Mission?

What mission?

He saw that Phil had two documents open at the same time. One named Dissertation7 and the other named LittleBird. So it was a dissertation. Good. Now he could go back to his seat and move on with his life.

Apparently, definitive proof wasn’t enough. He wanted to know what was on the second document. It had to be important enough that it was open right along side a hundred fifty page dissertation on Captain America. So, the comic book reading wasn’t for fun; it was for research. How disappointing.

Clint moved the cursor over to LittleBird and clicked. Well, it was too late to turn back now. Really, this time.

Curiosity killed the Clint. 

>>>———————>

Agent Clark finished tying his second silk tie around Hawkeye’s wrists, keeping him in bed. He knew that Hawkeye could easily get out of them if he wanted, but he wouldn’t. They both needed this after the mission they had come back from.

He stepped back to look at the handsome man that was nearly naked and spread out before him. He reached out to brush his fingers through Hawkeye’s blonde hair. The air was punched out of his chest when he saw the look in Hawkeye’s bright, blue eyes. “You worried me,” he said softly.

“I worried myself,” Hawkeye said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Clark shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m sorry for not getting to you in time.” He traced his thumb over the healing cut on Hawkeye’s hairline.

“Your timing was perfect,” he said. “Still in one piece.” There was a moment of silence before Hawkeye balled his hands into fists. “Kiss me?”

Clark laughed softly then leaned over to kiss him on his lips. “I tie you up and all you ask me for a kiss?” he asked when he pulled back. He gave him one more kiss before he sat at the edge of the bed.

Hawkeye smiled. “You like foreplay before you pound me into the mattress.” He raised his eyebrows as his tone changed from sweet to almost demanding, almost as if it were a challenge. He knew that Clark would not back down if it were one. 

“I don’t know how much of that we can actually do since you’re supposed to be resting.”

Perhaps the challenge was going to be a little more difficult than he thought. “Always sleep better after we have fun.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Hawkeye,” he said in an exasperated tone. The chances of anything besides rest happening was slim to none at the moment. 

“Clark,” Hawkeye sighed. He wasn’t upset. Clark had been afraid during the entire ordeal and it wasn’t fair for him to ignore that fear and anxiety. “I’m fine, okay?” If he hadn’t been tied down, his hand would’ve been on Clark’s cheek. “The doctors gave you the okay to check me out. Bedrest, mostly. I’m in bed.”

“What you’re suggesting isn’t rest.”

“I will be after,” he promised. Progress. “Come on, Clark. I walked from the car to the bed. Got all my stitches and pain meds.”

“You’re on them.”

“I’m not, right now. I don’t need them. They were all precautionary. I know you like when I’m in my right mind.”

“I do.” Phil reached down and brushed his fingers through his soft, blond hair. The action helped in calming the other man down, sometimes enough to get him to sleep. Playing fair wasn’t in the cards. Hawkeye needed rest more than he needed sex. 

“Come on, Clark. It was a three month mission. Plus three weeks of medical. I need you.”

“Need me, huh?” 

“You gonna make me beg?” Hawkeye was determined to get what he wanted.

“I love when you beg,” Agent Clark said, tightening his grip in Hawkeye’s hair.

Hawkeye shut his eyes and moaned softly, squirming. “Clark. Please,” he whispered. He shifted a bit to get comfortable. “You had to have tied me up for a reason, right?”

Clark smiled and pulled his hand away from Hawkeye’s hair. He walked around the bed and tugged at Hawkeye’s purple boxers. He slid them down Hawkeye’s legs, ignoring the gauze and bandages. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “You’re still part mummy.”

“Precautionary,” Hawkeye said.

“Not convincing,” he said.

“I can be very convincing,” Hawkeye said, spreading his legs now that they weren’t restricted by his boxers. “Missed you. 

“You think that will work?”

“Been so long, Clark,” Hawkeye said bending his legs at the knees. “Forgot what you feel like,” he said. He squirmed as much as he could with his arms tied up. The looked on Clark’s face told him that he was close to making Clark make a move.

“That might work,” Clark said with his eyebrow raised. He reached down and traced a finger over the arrow tattoos over Clint’s ribs.

“Not fair that you’re still wearing a suit and I’m naked.” He pulled against the ties, desperately wanting to touch the other man.

“Do not stretch my ties, Hawkeye,” Clark warned. Their work relationship involved the bound man constantly following his orders, and even in the bedroom, that hardly changed. It only took a moment before Hawkeye had settled back down. 

Hawkeye sighed softly and relaxed again, the want to touch the other man still there. He knew he’d be rewarded if he was patient and he was working on making it one of his better characteristics. “Clark,” he said. 

Clark’s ties staying in one piece depended on his next decision. “Let me go hang up this suit. You know I’ll take care of you.”

“You better be fast, or something will happen that you won’t like,” Hawkeye threatened, gently tugging at the ties to prove a point.

Clark would have been more concerned if the man hadn’t been the one to establish the rules of the consequences of what would happen if he were to untie himself. The night would be over and Clark would make sure that Hawkeye slept. Both of them would be unhappy with the situation, but it was a beneficial lesson in patience. 

He reached up and undid the ties before he could pull on them any further. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with Hawkeye tonight. He was too happy at the fact that he was home and not an ocean and more away. “You sure you can handle it, baby?”

“I can take anything you’re willing to give, sir,” he said, spreading his legs as wide as he could and still be comfortable. 

He climbed onto the bed, settling in the space created between Hawkeye’s legs. He leaned forward and kissed him on one of the scars on his chest. “You may regret saying that.”

“Make me.”

Clark let out a huff that ghosted across Hawkeye’s chest. He saved his retort for later. He traced a finger over the tape that held a bandage to Hawkeye’s side. “You tell me the second that it’s too much. If something starts hurting—”

“I’ll let you know,” Hawkeye interrupted. Clark would never hurt him. Not when they were together like this. “Now, get on with it.” No one would ever say that Hawkeye was the most patient man in the world

“Pushy.”

“You love it,” Hawkeye said, closing his legs slightly. “Come on, Clark. Before I get started without you.” His left hand began inching toward his cock.

Clark grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the mattress with a growl. “You’re going to make me tie you up again.”

“Oh no…”

Clark pinched Hawkeye’s side again. He knew that if he kept at it, there would be an added bruise to his body that wasn’t put there by the men that Clark had rescued him from.

<———————<<<

Clint felt like he had been holding his breath the entire time he was reading. He was never more grateful to see blank spaces and used it as a reason to take a break from the story. He should have stopped himself after the first paragraph, but he kept reading. 

He was reading about two men who were a few lines from having sex.

“Holy shit,” he said softly, then looked around. He was still alone. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting in that seat , but it was a lot longer than he expected. “Clint, get your butt back to your seat,” he said. The longer he stayed, the more likely Phil would catch him. 

Instead, he continued to scroll down the document. 

A long break in the action filled the next few pages. There was a lot of dialogue and a lot of blank spaces. Placeholders that Phil would likely fill in the next time he had a surge of inspiration.

Clint had the urge to edit a few grammatical mistakes when he saw them, but he knew that story was incomplete. Phil would catch them. But, as incomplete as it was, Clint found himself intrigued.  The dialogue was natural. The two characters were such at ease with each other with the right amount of teasing between them which meant Phil had created a rich and deep back story for the two of them.

Where was that story?

Then came about half a page of blank space. Perhaps Phil was in the process of writing something, or it was something he was going to come back to in the near future. He was sure he had made it to the end of what Phil had finished reading, but at the corner of the document there were three more pages to it.

Why did Phil feel like he needed to put so much space between that section and the previous? Clint needed to know.

Without hesitation, Clint scrolled to the next block of words.

>>>———————>

“Clark…” Hawkeye moaned as the man kept a steady pace as he rocked his hips to move his cock in and out of the other man. He squirmed as the man aimed his cock perfectly enough to never hit his prostate. “Ass…” he whined, trying to change the angle so that Clark would hit that spot with every thrust.

Clark could be a cruel, cruel man, sometimes. He leaned forward and kissed the man on the concentric tattoo over his heart. “Hush,” Clark whispered into Hawkeye’s skin. He made sure he hadn’t aggravate any of his injuries as he reached to wrap Hawkeye’s strong legs around his waist.

Hawkeye reached and pulled Clark up so he could kiss the other man. Sure, it folded him in half, but he was flexible. The kiss was more than enough to ground him before he finished to quickly. He turned his head and groaned as Clark pulled halfway out and pushed all the way back in, this time making sure to hit Hawkeye’s prostate. “Fuck…” he whispered.

Clark would not hide his smugness. He leaned over and kissed the man again as he buried his hand in Hawkeye’s hair. “I have you,” he whispered. 

Hawkeye nodded, unable to find the words. He moaned loudly and squirmed as Clark picked up the speed.

“I have you,” Clark repeated between thrusts. He was close and Hawkeye was too by the way he was breathing and reaching to grab anything and everything on the bed.

Clark let go of Hawkeye’s hair and slid his hand down to reach between them to stroke Hawkeye’s cock, knowing he wouldn’t need it. He groaned as he knew that it would only take a few more thrusts before he finished.

“Clark…” Hawkeye whined. He couldn’t last much longer with the way Clark was taking him apart. 

“I know. I know.” After years together, Clark learned everything he could about Hawkeye’s body. He stroked Hawkeye’s cock a few more times, feeling the man clench around his own.

“Please.”

“Come for me,” he whispered.

“Fuck,” was all Hawkeye could say as his orgasm crashed through him. He shook and squeeze around Clark’s cock as his cum spilled between the two of them.

Hawkeye tight around his cock was enough to make Clark come with a loud groan. He continued to thrust slowly to finish. He took his time to bring both of them back. He leaned over and kissed the man he loved on his lips. “I love you,” he whispered when he found his voice.

“Clark,” he whispered, slowly coming back down. He pulled him down for another kiss. He unwrapped his legs from Clark and flattened out on the bed. He smiled at the man, wincing as he pulled out.

Clark sat on the bed and pulled the condom off. He tied it off and walked to the bathroom to grab a rag and dispose of it properly. He made his way back and cleaned the come off of Hawkeye while checking his injuries at the same time.

“Stop it,” Hawkeye said, knowing what Clark doing. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Tomorrow, no condom.”

<———————<<<

“You’re sitting at the wrong desk.”

Clint nearly had a heart attack. He was so absorbed in Phil’s writing that he didn’t notice the man returning from his phone call with five books in his arms which was probably how Clint had enough time to read as much as he did. He didn’t know what to do. It took everything in him not to turn around and look at the man which was probably the best since he knew he was blushing from head to toe. 

“There aren’t assigned seats in the library,” Clint said. His voice didn’t sound like his own. And he could’ve done a lot better with his retort, but he was on the defensive.

“Very true. But, this is my computer. And your laptop is over there,” Phil said, pointing to his study area two tables away. Clint’s area was such mess compared to his own. His laptop and books were scattered everywhere.

Clint needed to come up with an excuse as to why he was sitting at a stranger’s laptop, reading a story that made him warm from head to toe and only partially from embarrassment. Parts of his body were reacting in ways that were unwarranted at the moment. “Right. I guess I just… forgot.”

Worst. Lie. Ever.

“So,” Phil asked. “How much did you read?”

Now was the chance to recover. He could tell a better lie now that he had a second or two to think. “Your dissertation sounds interesting.” Good start. “I really like part sex. Six! Part six.” Clint was ready for the ground to open up and swallow him. Clint had survived more than enough embarrassing encounters, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it back from this one.

“What did you like about it?” Phil asked as if Clint hadn’t just made a complete ass of himself. He waited patiently for a response. 

Caught. Clint was definitely caught. He stood up and made sure to not make eye contact with the other man. “That part where I’m gonna get my things and leave and… fall down the stairs on purpose now.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Clint felt even more embarrassed since Phil’s tone was so kind. He wasn’t going to let Clint feel embarrassed about the situation, for which Clint was grateful. “Fall down the stairs?”

“Leave.”

“You aren’t embarrassed?” Clint hoped that he wasn’t the only person embarrassed at the entire situation. Clint’s embarrassment sat at an eleven; even if Phil’s was at a two, it would be better than nothing.

“No, I’m completely mortified,” Phil replied easily, but his message was sincere. “But you need to study.”

“You sure you don’t want me to leave?”

“I left it there. For a long time. Maybe you were just being a good Samaritan and closing my computer for me so no one else would look at it, but then you accidentally ended up seeing things. It’s not a problem. It’s going to be read eventually.”

“By?”

“People.”

Considering that Phil had said that he was just mortified, that was not the response Clint expected to receive. People were going to read about Agent Clark and Hawkeye? More than just him? Well, now Clint wanted to know if there actually was more of a backstory to those two since he had apparently started the story in the middle of something. “Right. Of course. I still… should leave. I gotta pick up my cell phone from someone. So. Yeah?” Natasha always told him that he was a horrible liar. While this was more of a partial truth than an actual lie, it still sounded horrible.

“Okay,” Phil said.

Clint stared at the man, confused at his tone. He sounded disappointed. Maybe. It could have been Clint just searching for something to keep him there. 

He dragged his feet back to his table and packed up his things. Clint wasn’t usually someone who had regrets about decisions he made, but he needed a few days to get over this embarrassment.

And Phil was so nice about it, which was unbelievable and made it even worse. He would have felt better if Phil had yelled at him, but he was so damn polite.

Clint would not have blamed Phil if the man called security or reported him to someone that would get him in a lot of trouble. He wasn’t going to dwell on it. He was safe.

For now.

He gathered his things, shutting his laptop covered with stickers and case that Natasha had bought for him because he had a bad habit of constantly running into things and putting dents on the outside. The case was a good investment. Unfortunately, it was purple which people didn’t understand, but it was his favorite color.

Clint had decorated the case, covering most of the case mostly of stickers of bows and arrows since he when a lot of his friends thought of him, they thought of his skills in archery. He slid his laptop into his bag, tracing his fingers over the stickers, stopping on the oldest sticker of the bunch. An arrow sticking out of the middle of a target. 

Arrows.

Purple.

His head shot up and he stared at the man a few tables away from him. He grabbed his bag and made his way back over to him. “You… you weren’t writing about Captain America.”

“For my dissertation?”

“No,” Clint said. He had only read a page of Phil’s dissertation, but he knew that Captain America was a big part of it. “I have a bow and arrow on my laptop,” he said, clarifying his earlier statement. “My purple laptop.”

“Okay?”

“I thought you wrote for your job. Creating a new comic, or something. Or maybe it was some weird Captain America fan fiction. But it’s not. The circles aren’t his shield. It’s a target. There’s no star. A fan as big as you would not forget to mention the start.”

“And you lost me again.”

“I’m Hawkeye,” Clint said calmly. After putting the words out there, his eyes widened. “I’m Hawkeye. That means… you’re Agent Clark!” His eyes widened. He just read a story of the man standing next to him having sex with him. “Oh. My. God.”

Phil put a hand up to stop Clint’s ongoing diatribe. “You’re not Hawkeye,” he said, shutting down everything Clint had said.

“Yes. I am,” he said, adamant. “The arrows. Purple.”

“Those are placeholder characteristics,” Phil answered easily. It had to be the truth. “I’ll change them in the second draft.”

“Oh.”

Now, it was Phil’s turn to blush. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just leave that file open because sometimes I need to take a break from writing about Captain America.” He let out an awkward laugh and dragged his fingers through his short, thin brow hair. “I guess I can never really get away from it.”

“So, you write, hardcore gay porn? Starring someone that looks just like it him.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

Clint winced. He wasn’t the best with words. Most days, it was blurting something out. Or a couple dozen Freudian slips. “But it’s good. Really good.” Too good as was noted by what was going on a little further south on his body.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Clint said too loudly and too quickly.

“Ha… hey. You can tell me.”

Clint shook his head. Phil was still a stranger, regardless of how it felt like Clint had known the man for a long time. Staring at a man from across the room did not count as meaningful interaction. “No. Just… you should get back. Your two hours is almost through.”

Phil did not hide the surprised look on his face. “Two hours?”

Now Phil knew that Clint was watching and timing him. “I’m gonna go before I become the mortified one.” Clint was sure he already was the mortified one, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. He would let Phil continue to think that he was more embarrassed of the events. 

A long pause passed between them.

“Okay,” Phil said to fill the space. 

Clint thought that the man wanted to say something else, but held it back. He tightened the straps on his bag, then ran out of the quiet area. He needed to get home and stand under a cold shower. Then maybe go to Natasha’s and get his cell phone, not that anyone but Natasha usually called him. 

By the time he arrived back at his apartment he had broken out in a sweat. He dropped his bag onto his couch and looked down at his… body. “Aw, little Clint, no,” he said softly. Shower. He needed a shower. A cold, cold shower.

After said shower, Clint made the decision that studying would take place in his apartment for the rest of his life. Clint had worse ideas than sitting in his pajamas and studying on his bed. 

It worked for one and a half days. Often his studies were interrupted by naps, or other… needs. He played out Phil’s story in his head more times than he wanted to admit. Phil wrote a good story; it was hot and Clint was horny and it was a good combination. 

It took Clint about a week of taking more naps than studying before he needed to leave the comfort of his bed or his grades were going to suffer. He made his way to the library and stood in the lobby for a good five minutes before heading back to his quiet corner. Honestly, he could’ve chosen any other corner of the five story library, but Clint was a creature of habit. 

And some part of him hoped to see Phil.

That same part of him wasn’t prepared to actually see him sitting there, still typing and not acknowledging that he noticed that anyone else had walked into the area. Whichever document he was typing didn’t really matter. He looked down and frowned. “Little Clint, no,” he said softly.  Phil had constantly been in his thoughts for a the last week and to actually see him in person caused him to react. 

He went to his usual table and unloaded all of his things. 

Soft sounds of typing echoed in the air. The familiarity of the sound and the place soothed him. It didn’t take long for him to open up his textbook and fall into his good study habits. Since he had avoided the library for so long, he had fallen a bit behind. He needed to spend a lot of extra time in the library to catch up.

He didn’t want any awkward tension between him and Phil. After a half hour, he glanced over and saw Phil’s eyes still glued to the screen as he continued to type. He probably hadn’t even noticed that Clint was there; or that he was missing for a week. If Phil was okay with their last exchange, then Clint would be too.

By the time he looked up again, Phil was gone, but the laptop was there. Temptation.

 _He wasn’t writing about you, idiot. Calm down. Keep your butt in your chair and finish studying_.

He should’ve paid attention to his notes. Apparently one minute was a long enough wait to see if Phil would return.

He didn’t and that told Clint that it was okay to make his way over and sit at Phil’s laptop again. 

>>>———————>

“How are you doing?” Agent Clark asked, pulling Hawkeye to lie on his shoulder. He rested his hand on the small of his back then kissed him on his forehead.

“Tired. Now’s the time for bedrest,” he said with a smug look on his face. He was exhausted, but victorious. “See, I’m listening to the doctors.”

“I don’t think that the doctors would recommend what we just did as a means for bedrest,” Clark countered with a smile. Talking about methods was not a complaint, just a warning. It would not happen again. He hoped.

“Whatever works.”

“Why did I let you talk me into this again,” Clark asked. He looked over at Hawkeye and smiled softly. 

“Because you like how cuddly I get after sex,” Hawkeye said with a laugh. To prove his point, he wrapped his arm around Clark and kissed him on his cheek. He let out an extended yawn, pressing further and further against the man who held him.

“Not a good enough reason,” Clark replied. He held the man even tighter. “Come on. You said you’d get some sleep.”

“Someone keeps talking.” Hawkeye was a tease in everything he did and said, even as he fell asleep. 

Clark pinched Hawkeye’s side, careful of every injury on his body. He would never hurt the man he cared about so deeply. “I’ll stop.” Again, Clark would do whatever he needed to get 

“Don’t,” Hawkeye said. He kissed him again. “I like the sound of your voice.”

“Get some sleep,” Clark said after a few minutes of silence.

“You gonna be here when I wake up?” Hawkeye mumbled. He was already falling asleep in Clark’s arms. “You’re always here when I wake up.”

“You answered your own question,” Clark retorted, glad he could have a snarky reply.

“Ass,” Hawkeye whispered with a soft smile. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Clark held onto Hawkeye and kept rubbing his hand up and down his back until he finally fell asleep. Clark stared at the man sleeping against him and made a note to check over all his injuries as soon as he woke up. Not long after the mental note, Clark fell asleep. 

<———————<<<

“I think that you need to start carrying a map back to your desk.” 

Clint jumped at the sound of Phil’s voice. His eyes met Phil’s for a second before returning to the screen in front of him. He really needed to start paying attention to his surroundings. Usually, he was better at noticing what was going on around him. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Phil said quick enough to quell any fears Clint had about the situation. “I’m just glad to see you. You haven’t been here for a week.”

Clint was so focused on his embarrassment that he almost didn’t hear the last thing Phil said. “You noticed?”

Phil nodded once. “I noticed. I may need to start charging you for reading my stuff. Or I need to hire you as my proof reader.”

“Sorry,” Clint said, feeling like he needed to apologize.

“No problem,” Phil said, not wanting to dwell on it any longer. Another few moments of awkward silences before Phil spoke up again. “So, what do you think?”

“About?”

“You don’t have to pretend, you know. You are literally sitting in my seat and reading my laptop. Again.”

“Right,” Clint said slowly and cautiously. He felt like this could be a trap. There was no reason for Phil to be okay with him reading his story without permission. Twice. 

“Maybe I wanted you to see it, this time. I’m a smart person. I should’ve learned from the last time, right?”

Clint nodded slowly. Phil seemed to be waiting a a response to his earlier question about what he had just read. “No hardcore sex in this part?”

“I can write more than hardcore gay porn, as you called it last time. Phil shrugged. “Aftercare is important. As is cuddling and kisses and being able to sleep comfortably after.”

“In stories.”

“And in real life too.”

_He’s a cuddler._

_And also a hardcore sex-er_.

_That’s not a thing!_

“Right.” Clint pushed the chair back, careful not to hit Phil. He then stood up, but unlike the last time he was caught, he looked Phil in the eyes. “I’ll head back to my area now,” he said.

“Are you going to disappear for a week again?”

“Right, you noticed,” he said, repeating himself from the earlier part of their conversation.

“Of course I did. Not many people actually sit in this area of the library. As you probably have noticed.” Phil gestured to show how empty the corner was besides the two of them. “

“I don’t really pay attention to much.”

“Except me.” Clint blushed deeply. He thought he was being stealthy every time he watched Phil. “It’s okay. It’s nice to be noticed.”

“You type really fast. And nonstop.” Clint admired Phil’s ability to do so without distraction. Clint always tried to look at too many things at the same time. Sometimes he succeeded at noticing everything, other times, he would miss things right in front of him. 

“Things needed to get done. There was a lot of pressure on me. Even more when you kept watching me like a hawk. I thought you were someone paid by my committee to make sure I actually stayed on top of things.”

Clint laughed at that. “If that were an actual job, I wouldn’t mind,” he said. He opened his mouth to say something else when his thoughts began to drift. Hawk?

_Like a hawk?_

_LIKE A HAWK!_

It all clicked into place in that moment. “I am Hawkeye!” he said rather loudly. His mouth snapped shut. “I am Hawkeye,” he said softly. “You were writing super sexy porn about me!”

Phil’s eyes went wide and that told Clint that he was the one to be caught. His cheeks turned pink and Clint thought it was one of the most adorable things he’d ever seen. “No, not about you,” he said once he recovered from his moment of embarrassment. “I don’t even know you.” A good argument if Clint ever heard one.

“With the arrows and the purple,” Clint said, repeating his argument from the week before. This time there was more proof by the color of Phil’s cheeks. Once Clint had the validation of that point, a second point clicked. “Oh man. That means you’re Agent Clark.” Phil was writing porn about the two of them together? Clint’s smile was wide enough to slice his face in half.

“No.”

“All agents wear suits. And you’re wearing a suit right now. How do you have so many suits. And why are you always wearing them?”

“Not good enough evidence,” Phil said, cutting Clint’s train of thought and mini-rant short.

“I thought you were writing about having sex with Captain America. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.”

“Not really rare features on a person.”

“But you were writing about me?” 

“Yes?” Phil let a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He had no reason to lie any more. Phil was less weighed down and Clint’s smile grew. At least Phil wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

Clint’s smile faltered for a second. “Why? I’m not really interesting to write about.” Clint was in disbelief. There was no reason for Phil to be writing about him. All of their interactions had involved them sitting quietly in a library tables apart, never saying a word to each other until a week ago.

“Well, the you I created is really, really interesting. Super spy on a team of superheroes even if he doesn’t have superpowers himself. Always saving the world. He was even raised in a circus.”

Interesting was the best way to describe those few descriptions of his back story. “I see.” Clint stared at the man. “Well, I should… um… go before I show you how uninteresting I really am.” How was he supposed to compare to a fantasy that Phil had of him?

Why did he want to compare to Hawkeye? He really did want Phil to like him. The real him. 

“Let me be the judge of that,” Phil said to quell whatever fears Clint had.

That had to be an invitation to something. “Really? Are you asking me out? It sounds like you’re asking me out.”

Phil smiled and nodded to answer Clint’s question. “If you don’t mind working around my hectic schedule. It’ll be like this until my defense.”

“I don’t mind,” Clint said quickly. “I mean, you’re here a lot of the time.”

“You study during that time,” Phil said as if they were not sufficient enough to count as actual dates. 

“Well, you’re writing at the same time. Maybe, we’ll figure it out later?” Hopeful.

“I’d like that. Call me this weekend.” Phil reached into his notebook and tore out an entire sheet of paper. He held it out to him after scribbling on it. “Here’s my number.” 

Clint ripped the sheet in half, making sure to keep Phil’s number intact. He wrote his own number on it and handed it to Phil. “Mine.”

Phil looked at it over. “Perfect.”

Clint stared at the number on his sheet of paper, counting the digits to make sure it was legitimate. Then again, Phil didn’t seem like a person who would make up a phone number. “I gotta get back to studying micro. Got a lot of ground to make up.” 

“I’ll let you get back.” Phil stepped out of the way so Clint could have a straight path to his table. Maybe, next time, he’d be bold enough to sit with Phil. Both of their tables had enough extra chairs. “But… one question.”

Clint turned around and rubbed his eyes. Once he dropped his hands, he stared at the man, still unsure if what was going was actually real. He was waiting for the fallout of being a creeper and sitting at a stranger’s desk to read his porn. Instead, he had a date with Phil. “Yeah?” he said loudly. Then he realized they were still in a library and winced. Even if they were in their own personal corner, he still needed to be quiet. One day, he would remember that hew as in a library. “Yeah?” he repeated at half volume.

“What is your name?” Phil asked with a laugh as if it was ridiculous that he still didn’t know the other man’s name. “Or am I going to have to keep calling you Hawkeye?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at agentclintonfranciscoulson.


End file.
